


Unfortunately, No Man is Left Behind

by beswathe



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Only Very Faintly Shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 05:38:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18772291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beswathe/pseuds/beswathe
Summary: The Captain begrudgingly tries to coax Thomas from the lake. [Coda to episode 4.]





	Unfortunately, No Man is Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't much of anything, but I had to put _something_ out there to get these two out of my head. Can be read as gen. ([Now with sequel.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18930514))

Of the many flaws applicable to Thomas Thorne, dishonesty was not one of them. He was a man of his word—albeit to a fault—so when he said he’d be acquainting himself with the lake, there was no question of where he’d still be, several hours later. Finding him by the light of dusk was tricky, but not impossible; it was just a matter of determining which blotch upon the surface constituted the top of Thomas’s head.

He’d settled in a clearing between clumps of bulrushes, presumably so he’d be easier to spot. The Captain was loath to admit he’d succeeded.

“The film crew,” the Captain began, rigidly looming on the bank as he waited for Thomas to turn around. “They’ve cleared out. Shan’t be returning.”

 “Good riddance,” Thomas said. When he moved, the water did not. “Have you come to fetch me?”

“Not necessarily. I’ve certainly come to account for you.”

“You have wasted your time! There’s nothing you can possibly say that will quell my aching heart.”

The Captain briefly cast his eyes to the heavens. It was a gesture that Thomas had a unique talent for prompting.

“Then it’s a good thing I spared myself the trouble of preparing a speech.”

Thomas sniffed, but he at least had the decency to draw himself upright. He presented himself from the waist up with no indication he’d been submerged at all, his vest bone-dry and his curls pristine. The Captain wondered if Thomas understood the futility of his current exercise in theatre.

“If you’ve come to mock me…”

“I have neither the energy nor the investment to mock you, Thomas. But Kitty worries. I told her I’d investigate.”

Kitty hadn’t seemed to understand the futility of a dead man walking out into the lake, either. Her naivety was a breed the Captain could forgive; Thomas, on the other hand, knew better.

Or he _should_ , anyway. Where Kitty had been sheltered in life, Thomas had received the finest education in the great powers of Europe—some more palatable than others, granted. There was no excuse for why such a man should be so unrepentantly stuck on himself.

“Then go to her,” Thomas said, primly, “and tell her I won’t be back tonight. You might as well tell all of them, as it happens.”

The Captain idly raised a brow. “Including Ms Alison?”

“Why?” Thomas couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “Has she been asking for me?”

“Of course not, you foppish twit.”

All hope abandoned Thorne’s face. He bore instead a vibrant look of disappointment, mouth glumly downturned.

It was a craft he’d mastered, the Captain had to admit. He had the sort of heavy eyes that seemed naturally sorrowful, and he never held himself as assuredly as he did when he was wallowing in self-pity. Like it was his natural state.

He’d fooled the Captain, at least, when they’d first met. He’d exuded melancholy so freely that the Captain had thought Thorne to be a man haunted by his own philosophical insight. A regular Siegfried-bloody-Sassoon.

He’d been thankfully disabused of that notion.

“Come along,” the Captain said, when it became apparent Thomas wasn’t going to reply. His tone was softer than Thomas deserved, but there was a time for the carrot and a time for the stick. “It’s about time we all turned in for the night, and you need your sleep.”

Thomas crinkled his nose. “I don’t _need_ sleep.”

“Right. Yes, technically speaking, but if you don’t, you’ll—well, you’ll throw off your entire schedule.”

“What use have I for a schedule?” Thomas said. “I have no-one to share it with!”

It sounded uncomfortably close to a wail, which only became more insufferable when he threw up his hands as though bargaining with a deity above. If there was any such deity watching, the Captain mused, they clearly weren’t interested in the residents of Button Hall. Hadn’t been for some time.

“I thought this evening’s tantrum came courtesy of Byron.”

“ _You’re_ the one who mentioned fair Alison.” Thomas jutted out his chin, in his finest impression of a petulant schoolboy. “And I’m a man of depth. I can lament several things at once.”

“Yes, well,” the Captain said. He tucked his stick beneath his arm with an air of finality. “The lake will still be here in the morning. You can finish your lamenting tomorrow.”

Thomas furrowed his brow as he watched the Captain curiously, blatant enough to feel borderline invasive. Then there was a gleam of something less than honourable in his eye—and though the Captain suspected what Thomas was about to say, he couldn’t seem to open his mouth in time to prevent it.

“I thought you, of _all_ people, would understand the exquisite agony I’m feeling.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean—”

“You won’t be seeing that director again. And after you took such a shine to him, too.”

“You listen here!” The Captain unsheathed his stick and thrust it down towards Thorne, stopping short of his nose. Thorne looked startled, sullen mouth now sporting a moue of surprise. “I don’t know what you _think_ you’re suggesting, but you’d best consider it carefully before you say another word.”

Thomas retreated, infuriatingly, the summit of a scowl visible on the top half of his face. Then he reemerged enough to mutter, “I’m merely extending an olive branch.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m telling you that you have my sympathy. Our burdens are the same.”

Very little surprised the Captain, these days. He hadn’t been properly put on the back foot since 2000, when the then-Lady Button had accidentally tuned her radio to some ghastly song in which the vocalist protested they had not committed various acts of adultery.

But he was taken aback now. The very notion of Thomas having the capacity for sympathy was startling. He supposed Thomas wasn’t _malicious_ , but the vainglorious dandy rarely went out of his way to foster camaraderie either.

The Captain stared, and Thorne stared back; a snippet of an eon passed. Then the Captain sat down.

Maybe in life, he would’ve gone through the effort of removing his shoes and socks before swinging his legs into the water, but there was no point in his current condition. The water reached the top of his boots, and he felt none of it. Not a single drop.

Thomas offered something suspiciously close to a smirk.

“Isn’t the water rejuvenating? Especially after a day like today.”

“No,” the Captain said bluntly. “Perhaps it would be if I could feel it.”

“Even Fanny enjoyed this in life, you know. Paddling in the lake when she thought nobody could see.”

The Captain scoffed before he could stop himself. “I’ll be damned if I adopt the habits of the lily-livered landed gentry.”

Thorne huffed. “As a _member_ of the lily-livered gentry, I don't like your tone.”

Emitting a non-committal hum, the Captain glanced down at his boots. He could just about glimpse their outline, despite the setting sun. Yet he supposed radiant daylight wouldn’t make much difference.

Then he glanced up at Thomas. When he spoke, his attempt at sounding indifferent wasn’t entirely successful.

“Why _did_ you venture out here? You must know dying doesn’t lend itself to a repeat performance.”

“No,” Thomas said, and a sigh fluttered from his lips. He pressed his cheek into one hand as he let down his shoulders. “But it’s soothing. To make-believe that I have any control over my circumstances.”

Again the Captain made a noise, this time to concede the point. He gently set down his crop (force of habit; he doubted he could damage it even if he tried), and regarded Thomas gravely.

“There are _some_ things you can control, old chap.”

Thomas canted his head. “Such as?”

“This business with our new proprietor, for one. She is married—and more pertinently, she’s terminally disinterested.”

The Captain regretted saying it the moment he’d finished, anticipating either an outcry from Thomas, or another retreat into the reeds. But to his mild relief, neither came. Thomas was silent, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular, until he spoke so quietly that the evening breeze nearly carried his words away.

“I have few other options around here.”

Against all odds and good judgement, the Captain smiled. It was a small, amused quirk of his mouth, one he directed away from Thomas and down at his lap, but it wasn’t unkind.

“An astute observation.”

“Speaking of which, the others are probably wondering what’s taking you so long.”

“I doubt it. When I left, they were preoccupied with the gossip of the day.”

“At my expense, I imagine,” Thomas said, and he splayed a hand over his chest. The quiver of his lips could be generously described as a pout.

The Captain grimaced. That was the problem with Thomas; he could be a decent sort, almost downright tolerable, but he was just as handy at being the opposite. A man of depth indeed.

“Your name,” the Captain said measuredly, “didn’t pop up.”

“Which is just as typical! You’re the only one trying to comfort me in my hour of need.”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort.” The Captain thought that should’ve been obvious.

“I find you comforting,” Thomas said, to which the Captain lifted his brows. Apparently conscious of the skeptical reception, Thomas went on, “You know what it’s like, don’t you? To be surrounded by people, and still be alone.”

The Captain had no response to that.

It wasn’t that he minded his bunkmates. He’d grown to tolerate them, because it had seemed prudent to be on polite terms with his comrades in eternity, but kicking the bucket at Button Hall had not been part of his career plan. He was a man of his era, and a part of him resented the fact he hadn’t been able to see it to fruition. The brave new world he’d been expecting—a world that would, at least, allow him a modicum of the freedom he’d been told they were fighting for—was a world that emerged without him, and it had apparently produced men such as Julian.

Who was… free. But maybe too much.

He sometimes felt he had more in common with Thomas's relentless dreaming.

Thomas was watching him, now, and though he felt obliged to respond, he reckoned it would be shrewd to swerve the question.

“I’ll admit to finding some pleasure in the visitors we’ve been getting, lately.”

“Mm. Seeing new faces hasn’t been all bad.” It had grown too dark to properly discern Thomas’s expression, but he spoke wistfully. “And kind as your advice may be, I am not yet prepared to give up on Alison.”

The Captain’s advice—if it could be called that—hadn’t been an act of charity; it was simply inconvenient that Thomas had such an accessible source of melodrama. But he was in no mood to argue, so he merely moved to palm the stick again.

“At the very least, abandon your poetry, man. You needn’t subject the rest of us to your verse.”

“You can’t deny an artist his outlet,” Thomas insisted. “Besides, I don’t think you mind as much as you say you do.”

“I’d be fascinated to know what gave you that impression.”

“Anyone with even a trace of romance in them appreciates poetry.” There was an audible smile in Thomas’s voice, and the Captain had no doubt it looked smug. “That, I’m afraid, includes you.”

The Captain rolled his eyes. It was almost impressive that Thomas hadn’t made him do so far more frequently.

“I’ve no time for that sort of thing,” he said, as he extracted one leg from the water, then the other. He drew his knees up to his chest, mechanically patting his trousers down. They weren’t soaked through, but mortal instincts were tough to kick.

“Oh, Captain,” Thomas said, exhaling the word on a sigh. It seemed like he was about to prolong his lecture, until he followed it up with: “ _My Captain_ —”

“ _Right_. No.” The Captain hopped to his feet, holding out a hand in warning. “That’s quite enough of that.”

Though Thomas didn’t laugh, he chuffed something like it. He leant back into the water, arms extending, and moonlight caught one half of his face. The Captain saw that he was smiling. This time, it was without any trace of melancholy.

“I’m heading back in,” the Captain said. “Are you coming?”

Thomas shook his head. “Go on without me. I remain paralysed with anguish.”

The Captain’s mouth twitched, but he composed himself before he could smirk. He knew there was little point in saying anything else when turning on his heel would do the trick. Silently, he swiveled to face the Hall and began the trudge back, only for Thorne’s voice to stop him in his tracks once he’d managed approximately five steps. Right on cue.

“ _Wait_. Maybe I should accompany you after all.” No sooner had Thomas uttered the words than he was beside the Captain, agitatedly threading a hand through his curls. “It's late. Who knows what villains may be stalking the grounds?”

“I know we touched on this before, Thomas, but I really must stress that we can’t die _again_.”

“Even so,” Thomas said, bristling. “I wouldn’t wish to see you terrorised by something catching you unawares. Of course.”

The Captain snorted. _If the Fuhrer couldn’t put the frighteners on me_ , he thought, _this place certainly won’t_.

And there was no missing how closely Thomas was standing, nor the faint note of apprehension colouring his tone. Perhaps all the excitement from earlier had dampened the Captain’s will to fight; perhaps he felt he owed Thomas the same minimum of diplomacy the poet had shown him.

Whatever it was, the Captain felt merciful enough to echo, “Of course.”


End file.
